


Behind Closed Doors

by The_White_Rabbit42



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Mutual Pining, men being cute with animals
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-04-06 04:52:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19055596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_White_Rabbit42/pseuds/The_White_Rabbit42
Summary: Sneaking a kitten into the bunker might be the best decision you've ever made for reasons you could never have anticipated.





	Behind Closed Doors

“You got a hot date or something?”  Dean asked, glancing sideways at you from the driver’s seat.  Curiosity melded with mild amusement, making green sparkle in ways that should have had your heart fluttering, but you were too preoccupied to even notice. 

 

You couldn’t blame him for asking.  You hadn't been able to sit still the entire way back, fingers drumming along the interior, leg bouncing, obsessively checking your phone as the day dragged on.  It was out of character for you, but in your defense, he had told you it wouldn’t take more than a day or two  _ tops _ .

 

“ _ It’s a simple salt and burn _ , you said.  _ We’ll be back in no time _ , you said.”  You tried to keep it light, but the anxiety buzzing through your veins bled into your words.

 

He mistook it for irritation, a hard dent appearing between his brows.  “Since when is any case ever set in stone?”

 

Well, he had you there, but it didn’t make you any less antsy.  

 

“Sometimes, a girl just has things she needs to do,” you said vaguely, hoping he would let it drop.

 

His eyes slid to you again, his lips pressed together in a way that almost resembled a pout.  You’d been repeatedly reminded, however, that Dean Winchester most certainly, under  _ no _ circumstances, did such things, so you were clearly mistaken.  

 

This was the point where, at any other time, you would call him on it, but your mind was still going in too many directions for you to feel up for the ensuing banter.

 

Silence filled the car once again, neither tense nor comfortable, skirting the borders of both as you each retreated into your head.

 

It didn't last long.

 

“If you were seeing someone, you know you could tell me, right?” 

 

It was the unusual demand within his tone rather than the words themselves that caught you off guard.   

 

You couldn't help a soft snort from escaping at the thought of anyone being dumb enough to want to date you.  “Yeah, sure.”

 

Everything about him was tense, guarded, almost as if he expected the two of you to do battle rather than have a friendly chat.  

 

Though the look he returned suggested  _ you  _ were the one acting strange.  “What? We’re friends. Friends talk about those things.”  

 

You didn’t answer.  Instead, you undid your seatbelt, the smooth sound of denim sliding across leather overtaking the quiet. You sidled up to him, as close as you could get without touching, and you were reminded of how large and warm he was as the heat of his frame spilled over onto yours.  

 

You did your best to stay focused, sliding your hand up through the back of his hair.  

 

“Uhhh, what are you doing?”

 

You waited another several seconds to respond, eyes riveted to his skull as you gently probed along it  

 

“Checking for head injuries.  You  _ did  _ get whacked pretty hard.”

 

His confusion melted, and he rolled his eyes so hard he was liable to pull something. “Real funny, chuckles."

 

There was little humor beneath his nickname for you.  If you didn't know better, you would say he was in a  _ mood _ , but you could always tell when one of those was coming as they tended  _ not _ to appear out of nowhere.

 

You waited for him to bat your hand away, but the way he cracked his neck suggested he wasn’t as irritated as he let on.  His head canted sideways, almost as if he was offering up a spot behind his ear for you to scratch. You might have, just to tease him, but the movement made you recall the the reason you were even having this conversation.     

 

Your dropped your hand behind the seat, glancing out the back of the car to find the sun setting behind you.  It could have been romantic, the two of you on the open road, vivid oranges and pinks spilling into the vehicle and making it glow.  You were so close to Dean you could still smell hints of his aftershave, and you knew if you if you laid your head on his shoulder at that moment, he would let you get away with it.    

 

All you were able to do was let out a long, impatient breath.  “Could you step on the gas a little more?”

 

Baby immediately hummed a little louder, and his head shifted as he tried to sneak a glance at you.  

“Really, what gives?”

 

You didn’t need to look at him to know the eye he was giving you.  It was the one that belonged to Dean Winchester, bloodhound on the scent.  His determination was palpable, making the small space between you vibrate with tension.   

 

“Maybe I just want my own bed, with my own space, where I can be left to my own  _ devices. _ ”  

 

It took him all of a second to read between the lines, and the moment he did, it was like that time you accidentally started undressing in front of him because you didn’t realize he was still in the room.  

 

His body went rigid, eyes eager to be anywhere else but on you as he cleared his throat.  “Yeah. Sure. Whatever. We, uh, all have needs.” 

 

You had a knack for getting him to blush, not that you had any idea  _ how _ .  Yet, here he was, his cheeks turning another lovely, light shade of pink, tongue darting nervously across his lips as he sucked in a slow breath. 

 

Then again, you were well aware of how he had you neatly filed away as little sister material, so you imagined it might be a touch awkward hearing about  _ those  _ things when it came to you.  

 

“But if you  _ were _ seeing someone, you would tell me, right?”  There was an intensity beneath his words that ratcheted up the tension, and things suddenly started to feel weird.  Weirder than that time you all got drunk, combined Truth or Dare with Poker, and Sam dared you to sit in his brother’s lap every time you lost a round.  

 

“Uh,  _ yeah _ .  Who do you think I’d want looking for me if I never came home after?”

 

You knew that remark would please him.  Pride tugged at the corner of his lips, though it wasn’t for the reason you thought.  “You really consider the bunker your home?”

 

You turned your head and gave him the most incredulous look.  “Of  _ course _ I do, D.  You guys are my family.  I don’t know what I’d do without you… Except maybe get hit on more often.”  Despite the dryness in your tone, you were only partially kidding, and you noticed a brief side-eye as he somehow picked up on it.  “I swear, you’re like the overbearing older brother I never asked for.” 

 

You flicked the side of his ear, the gesture far more satisfying than you could have guessed.  Increasingly so when he decided to make a big show of swatting you away this time. 

 

You grinned, sliding back across the seat out of his reach. 

 

“Yeah, well  _ someone _ has to look out for you,” he muttered. 

 

You both knew that was a lie.  You’d been looking after yourself for years, though the thought of him wanting to protect you did put a smile on your face the rest of the ride back.

 

***

 

Dean barely had the chance to get Baby in her spot before you had the door open, and it was all you could do not to break out into a run as you moved through the garage into the bunker.  You bypassed all your usual stops, bathroom included, calling out a greeting to Sam as you nearly bowled him over on his way to the kitchen. 

 

It wasn’t subtle by any means, but your nerves were thrumming so loudly you might psych yourself out of existence at any moment.  Sure, the fate of others had technically rested in your hands before, but not like this. You’d never had  _ this  _ level of responsibility, and the thought of failing so spectacularly within the first week (and what that might mean) had you flying down the hallways toward your room.  

 

You finally made it, key out of your pocket well in advance so you could jam it in the lock.  As usual, it sticks halfway, and you slam your palm into it, ignoring the sting as something started to poke out from beneath the door. 

 

“Come on, come on,” you muttered, hitting it a few more times.  

 

“You need any help?”  Dean’s voice carried down the hall, and you nearly leapt out of your skin. He should’ve been in the kitchen foraging for a sandwich and some beer, or in the laundry room stripping out of his clothes before he hit the shower, not hovering where the hallway split in two different directions with clearly no intention of heading to his room.     

 

You angled yourself in front of your door, feet blocking the gap at the bottom.  “It’s cool, D. I got it.”

 

“You sure?”  He took a step toward you, and your palm began to turn numb as you frantically slam that damn piece of metal until it finally gives and slides in all the way.  

 

“Yup! Thanks!”  Your smile was tight, perhaps a touch unhinged, as you quickly twisted the lock and pushed your way inside.  You were in such a rush you left the key, opting for the deadbolt instead after slamming the door closed behind you.  

 

Yeah.  That wasn’t suspicious at all.  

 

Any worry over how strange you were acting dissipated as you were greeted with the most  _ pathetic  _ noise in existence.  It was followed by a visceral jolt of panic, despite the fact that the sound proof warding was in place, so even if Dean was lurking out there, as you expected, he wouldn't hear a thing.

 

You sent a silent thanks to Rowena, wherever she was, for helping you, because there was no mistaking what you were trying to hide as a chorus of squeaky mewls rose up from your feet.

 

You reached down, scooping up the manic little creature trying to fuse itself to your boot.  

 

“You poor thing,” you crooned, tucking the kitten close to your chest. You couldn't tell if he was starving or terrified.  Probably  _ both _ after being left in a strange place alone for seven days when you were only supposed to be gone for a few.

 

The guilt you’d been carrying welled up within your chest, and you walked into your private bathroom to assess how badly you’d messed up.  The moment you turned on the light, you were surprised by what you found. There was still plenty of water left in the dispenser, and enough food to easily get him through another few days. 

 

"And D says I prepare  _ too much  _ for everything," you mused, fingers stroking behind black, velvety ears.  The little body in your hand began to vibrate, a loud purr overtaking its previous protests as he stretched up and rubbed himself beneath your chin.  

 

You walked back into the other room, noting all the toys sprawled out across the floor along with the little pockets pressed into the comforter, mostly surrounding your pillow.  

 

“You look like you made out ok,” you breathed in relief.  Other than the cat box needing a change, it seemed the only real issue was that you had been gone.

 

“Is that what all that sass was?”  You asked, raising him up in front of you and giving his chin a good scratch.  “You just missed me?”

 

He paced back and forth within your hands, running himself from head to tail along the side of your face.   

 

The unconditional affection warmed you in ways you’d forgotten were possible, and you smiled.  “Missed you too, little Meowmers.” 


End file.
